of man and place

THE SCREWBALL








There’s my guy
on patrol, janglin keys, chains
rings upon all his fingers
studs scattered like imps
Bellbottoms (Feb. 1996)
He’s not pierced
yet he might as well be.


He stoops to conquer
a vagrant piece of trash
blown in from a franchise
on Federal. He ushers it
toward the skow
holding the thing
like it was positive
at arms length.


Then prances across the ice
glancing back at his patch
and into his shelter
among the recovering


Ø Lay the binoculars
on the desk. Time
transits the Highlands
The Shining Mountains
cut their mighty silhouette
The Sun
appalled by tedium
decides to go down






                   Ed Dorn   (+  1999 )






















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